


Flower of Justice

by lea_hazel



Category: Imperial Radch Series - Ann Leckie
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dragons, Complicated Relationships, Dragon Riders, Gen, Identity Issues, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Isolation, Life Debt, Post-War, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-09-29 19:41:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20441432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lea_hazel/pseuds/lea_hazel
Summary: Justice of Toren, however, was anything but human.





	Flower of Justice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [venndaai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/venndaai/gifts).

Dragons have many names. That is the first thing that humans learned about dragons when they first encountered them, a thousand years ago or more, that dragons have many names. The second was that of those names, most are not permitted to be spoken by humans. That lesson was rather harder to learn, for creatures as naturally impudent and curious as the dragons soon found humans to be, but with time they learned it, and learned it well. In modern times, human-dragon relations are not nearly so strained.

In modern times, humans and dragons fought alongside each other in their many respective wars. Well, for a given definition of 'side'. Many humans fought below dragons, strictly speaking, and just a few of them fought above dragons.

One of those few was a young, brash officer by the name of Seivarden Vendaai.

It was an elite position of the imperial navy, and suitable for a young person of good breeding and impeccable mannerism, which Seivarden fancied herself she was. Rather, it was a matter beyond dispute that House Vendaai had all the prestige, power, precedence and wealth necessary to secure a commission for one of their favored daughters. Whether that qualified as good breeding was technically arguable, and members of the upper crust indeed spent many hours quibbling about the quality of their respective lineages. As to her mannerisms, Seivarden's comrades-at-arms could testify to them, but most likely wouldn't.

All these circumstances and more conspired to give a young Seivarden quite a high opinion of herself, which her dragon, Sword of Nathtas, was not inclined to disabuse her of. Dragon and rider fought together with honor, distinction, and even efficacy throughout the Northwestern Campaigns, and would have gone on doing the same until Seivarden was too old to ride, if they hadn't been ambushed by Garseddai separatists. The other riders escaped by the skin of their teeth, but Sword of Nathtas took a bolt that tore through her wing like a cheap canvas sail, and sank into the icy water of the Sacred Moon Lake, taking her rider with her.

There she remained, suspended in the chill of the sanctified waters, until a crawfish boat discovered her frozen body and dragged her to shore, one thousand years later.

Now Seivarden was a rider without a dragon, and worse, a soldier without a war.

* * *

In what was once the barracks for the airborne complement of the imperial navy, a handful of aging war-dragons still commanded the attention of their human caretakers. The closest thing to combat most of them saw was in hunting the grass-fed cattle that grazed in the surrounding pastures. They spent most of their retirement lounging in the dusty hollows in the former training arena. Under different circumstances Seivarden, who had once being a daring fighter pilot, would have been appalled at such indolence, even taking into consideration their advanced age and venerable achievements.

Under current circumstances, Seivarden was too busy vomiting.

Bent double over a basin, she emptied the content of her stomach in long, spasmodic fits, punctuated by short breaks of helpless panting. An attendant stood a safe distance away, her face plastered with a skeptical expression, waiting for the storm to pass so that she could clear the debris. Deworming elderly dragons had to be preferable. When her body was done using her to clear itself of toxins, Seivarden rolled to her side, clutching her belly, then sprawled on her back in the dust, arms akimbo, looking up at the blue sky above.

Looking up at _her_.

She tried to speak, but her throat was too raw, still.

"Are you done?"

Seivarden nodded silently, and the attendant darted in to pick up the basin and beat a hasty retreat.

The scaled ridges over her wide, yellow, slit-pupiled eyes crinkled. In a human, that expression might have been called a raised eyebrow. Justice of Toren, however, was anything but human. "That's not what I meant, Seivarden, and you know it."

The human wheezed a dry, raspy laugh. "I could have been your rider, you know."

Justice of Toren snorted so hard that thin plumes of smoke emanated from her nostrils.

"We flew drills together," Seivarden pointed out.

"I remember," said Justice of Toren.

She braced both palms behind her on the dusty earth and propelled herself to a sitting position. "I was a damn good pilot!"

"You were a competent rider," said Justice of Toren. "Sword of Nathtas had no complaint of you."

"Damn right," muttered Seivarden.

"Sword of Nathtas is dead," said the dragon, "and the war is over. You're not a dragon-rider anymore."

"Is that why you're languishing in idleness in this dusty pit, Breq?" asked Seivarden.

"I did not give you leave to use that name, officer," said the dragon, its long reptilian face smooth and without expression.

Seivarden breezed right past the reprimand, and went on talking. "You were born to fly and fight, dragon," she said, "and so was I."

"'_The flower of justice is peace_'," quoted the dragon.

"And how exactly is an old war dragon supposed to bloom the flower of peace?" asked the officer. "Can you answer me that?"

"You'll find, officer," said the dragon dryly, "that maintaining peace is quite as much work as fighting a war, quite as challenging, and infinitely more rewarding. Digging a ditch or building a dike can protect more citizens than any of our most glorious battles ever did, and your workers live to see the gratitude of the people they benefited."

"Digging ditches is peasant's work," spat Seivarden.

"That's right," said Breq. "Peasant's work, beneath the dignity of the apple of the House of Vendaai, the greatest and most dignified among imperial aristocracy. _Not_ beneath a sweating, vomiting addict who hasn't seen honest work in a year. If you're even strong enough to hold a shovel, that is."

All the fight went out of her, and she sank back down into the dust, her glassy eyes staring abstractly at the blue sky above her.

Justice of Toren shuffled in the dust bowl she had been occupying, and started positioning herself to take flight. If Seivarden could not be persuaded, then surely she had done all that she could. Her wings unfurled, her forelegs coiling like tensed springs, ready to push off the ground. Already she could feel the wind's pull on her skin, a force poised to carry her far above the ground, and its humans, and their human concerns.

"Why did you save me?" asked Seivarden suddenly.

She furled her wings, but didn't shuffle back around to face the human. "I was supposed to leave you lying naked, face down in the snow," she said, in an uninflected tone.

"You could have done," said Seivarden, simply. "No one would have reprimanded you. No one would have _known_." She stopped short of saying the next sentence, which Breq nonetheless knew was on her mind.

"_I_ would have known, officer," said Breq, similarly leaving the corollary unspoken.

Seivarden was silent for a time, before saying, "I suppose that's why I was never your rider."

"Sleep. Eat. Listen to what the minders tell you and follow their instructions." Breq -- Justice of Toren -- did not know why she was issuing these orders, only that it was of paramount importance that they be obeyed. "If you're still sober when I return in forty eight hours, you can come with me to the river basin."

"What?" asked Seivarden, nonplussed.

"Come with me to the river basin," repeated Breq patiently. "We'll see. Maybe Ekalu can make something of you, after all."

Without waiting for an answer, she drew her wings open and leapt into the air, flying away into the blueness of the sky.


End file.
